


Extended Stay

by GodOfWar



Series: The Nice And Accurate Compendium Of Dealing With Bureaucracy As Told By Slightly Irritated Angel And Demon Entirely Done With This Shit [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood, Crowley is bad at being the kind of demon that Hell digs, Crowley was Raphael before he fell, Humor, I think that Beel thinking Crowley is actually a competent demon is a hoot, I'm Sorry, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Injury Recovery, M/M, Other, The Bastard - Freeform, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Wards, but stupidly good at other things, but you can have it, no beta we saunter vaguely downwards like Crowley, ok?, sequel I didn't know I wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 11:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfWar/pseuds/GodOfWar
Summary: Fallow up to 'Unwanted Guests'One grumpy demon reevaluates what they know about a rather undervalued employee.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice And Accurate Compendium Of Dealing With Bureaucracy As Told By Slightly Irritated Angel And Demon Entirely Done With This Shit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549189
Comments: 13
Kudos: 141





	Extended Stay

It was around the time when Crowley went to the small kitchen, leaving Beelzebub to finish wrapping Gabriel's left wing that it occurred to them that they have been had.

Beelzebub prided themselves on knowing the where and the how's and the why's so it came as unpleasant surprise that Crowley had them where he wanted. 

Indebted.

They should have known that. At least suspected. Crowley with his ever changing fashion, elongated ridiculous name. Going around in that old car, talking about computers, making presentations that were not pointing on a wad of badly written papers and grunting 'read that' but long and comprehensive even when they looked pointless. And then there was that penmanship, easily pretty enough that some pages filled with flowing easy language lined the drawers of their desc.

Crowley was bad at killing, maiming and burning property. He was marginally better at torture but always grew bored before the real fun would start. He rolled his eyes at war, scoffed at pollution and sniffed at famine calling it all uninspired, low grade and counterproductive offering an explanation that went far too deep into philosophy and statistics for any run-of-the-mill demon to understand more then 'that's bad for us' and it took World War II for Beelzebub to understand his point made over two thousand years ago… around the time of Peloponnese war. 

What Crowley excelled at was temptation, but…

Here he was, handling things in a way that he nearly never had a chance to do in hell. Relegating. Planning. Calm as you please flashy bastard with all the competence of a person who know what they are doing.

Bit on the nose, that realization that Crowley wasn't a bad worker. He was a resource badly spent.

It only took a failed Apocalypse and falling in…_feelings_ with archangel to see this. Satan, should that bastard ever come back to Hell Beelzebub would boot out Dagon faster then she could frown and ask 'why?' and get him to menage all their paperwork and projects. Six thousand years of reading chicken scratch and never finding what they tried to find when there was someone who without even thinking delegated the work in the most proficient ways, got everything he needed with no fuss and just ! rolled !with it.

They watched Crowley walk back with a rather awful smelling cup clasped in one hand and a large open tome in the other.

Bastard. Utter, utter bastard of a man.

"What izzz zzat?" Beelzebub petted Gabriel's wet hair and the back of his neck, taking a chance to look at the dizzy and tired angel. Crowley lay the book next to their knee and with touch, that continued being gentle for all the time he was tending to his enemy, he tipped Gabriel's head back.

"Few things- walerian, lavender, honey, holy water and something to take away the edge. Should sleep like a babe after that."

Beelzebub nearly threw themselves on the other side of the room (their flies actually did) but instead they froze, eyes on the cup as Crowley produced a long straw and put one end close to Gabriel's mouth, watching for a moment the movement of his throat, before he threw his chin toward the book.

"Read that one. There is enough angel's blood to make adjustment to the old wards."

"Wardz? What wardz, we went right zru, like zrough paper." They bent, picking the book and settling it on their bent knees, observing the deceivingly innocuous cup and blinking at the angel's soft pleased humming. At least he was happy sipping on liquid death. They couldn't even grasp how any demon would with no fear hold holy water in their hands, immune or not. Crowley patted lightly Gabriel's hand, and moved slowly away, not letting anything drip or drop. He got up and a second later Beelzebub heard a clatter of the porcelain. When he came back his hands were glowing as he tapped the walls, touched the floor and stood on the chair to slide his fingers on the ceiling. The room glowed.

"Based on intent. If you meant harm you would end somewhere…" Crowley sauntered around, glancing at the floor before he pivoted with a small 'aha', reading the series of numbers surrounded by sigils " well, that would be somewhere around the West side border between States and Canada. Last time it was Easter Island…no one of hell tried for little extra credit?"

"None zat I know off. Lookz imprezzive"

"You didn't think we had not been prepared for you, did you?"

They did. But they had readjusted their opinion somewhere between the first cup of tea and the present time. And not for the first time in the last few months they wondered just who Crowley was before he became the Serpent of Eden. Heaven had only handful of healers and they remember, in a sort of blurry way that surrounded all just after their Fall that Crowley was one of the few who helped patch the others up. That was before helping became the sign of weakness, but Beelzebub was glad that he had never got rid of it.

Crowley stretches his hand and sigils slowly disappear, leaving only imprint of light behind their eyelids. They blink and put their eyes on the book without prompting. They don't know what the sigils mean, magic was never something they needed to learn, not when they had miracles to work with, but, after dredging up the knowledge of language they menage to piece together the theoretical explanation enough to know that it would help and it will continue helping long after they are gone.

Sly, sly bastard.

They changed their mind. Crowley will become their secretary even if they would have to let him stay on Earth and go ask Satan himself for a favor.

"Be gentle with that. Aziraphale will eviscerate you and leave your entrails for sever rats if you as much as bend the corner." They blink at the semi-serious tone but smooth the aged paper out and close the book, marking the page with their finger. "I am going to take Gabriel to bed, you both can rest but give me your answer in an hour or so. Are you going to stay or will you go back to Hell soon?"

Beelzebub hadn't had time to think about it. The obvious answer would be to go. There's a million demons who probably walk in circles, not knowing what to do with themselves making that a million and one, since Beelzeebub didn't know either. They were all still waiting for instructions from someone who doesn't feel like sharing. Things are a proper mess, but Gabriel would be alright here. It looked like, if either Crowley or Aziraphale had any vengeful feelings towards them, they were keeping them to themselves. They certainly had plenty opportunities to hurt them…to kill them, too. It was improbable that they would act on them the second Beelzebub's back was turned. And this place…it was safe. Guarded. There was no reason to stay, no reason at all.

They try to tell themselves that as they climb on top of Gabriel's back, resting their head just under his wings, pressing their mouth to the patch of skin. They breath in the potent mixture of angelic pain, sweat and old paper, the last of which seemed to be a permanent fixture in this strange house. The bed underneath them is soft, covered in black and red tartan duvet and large enough that the angel beneath them was able to lie down without any strain on his abused limbs.

Beelzebub closes their eyes, slips their hands under Gabriel's stomach to feed of his warmth and wonders when was the last time they ever felt this safe anywhere in the world. Here. Under the roof with demon they tried to kill and an angel they would've tried to some time before, given half a chance, but who offered their bed instead when the tables turned. With stupid himbo they inconveniently felt for, but nearly was made to erase from existence. Not to mention the small army of archangels that will aim to hunt them down.

And here they thought that a failed Apocalypse was the strangest event of their life. 

The more you know…

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I've actually continued and probably will continue...stop me?


End file.
